The Horse King of Gondor
by Rufious
Summary: There was once a time when Gondor had Kings. These are the memoirs of the one who came to be known as the Horse King. Listen to his story. It's rather special.
1. Chapter 1

**The Horse King of Gondor**

_The memoirs of Eldacar Valacarion, twentieth King of Gondor_

Hail stranger,  
So you're interested in my story aren't you? Or maybe you found this little book in a shelf somewhere in the Library of Osgiliath and it piqued your curiosity. Or maybe you were just bored. I don't know and I probably never will. My hand shakes slightly as I write this and though I can still wield a sword I notice that my son beats me more often during our sparring bouts. Subtle signs but in my father's line we remain vital till the end and these will be the only signs I will ever get. I will probably die within the year. Just enough time to write my story down.

I was born the 1255th year of the Third Age but my story starts five years earlier, in 1250. Gondor was considered to be at the height of its power, and my grand-father,Rómendacil II, at that time still the Regent, had won a great victory against the Easterlings two years before. He'd had great help from the Northmen during that campaign and considered it wise to strengthen this alliance further. Thus he decided in 1250 to send my father, Valacar, to the court of Vidugavia, the King of Rhovanion as an ambassador.

Though I wasn't there of course, my father's arrival at the court has been described to me so many times by my "Uncles" that I might as well have been. My father arrived on the 20th of Narquelië and though it wasn't a particularly cold day to Northern standards, my father wasn't as yet used to the Northern weather and he was thoroughly cold when he arrived. He was immediately granted an audience however, so that he was still shivering when he appeared before the King.

That audience is still a popular story nowadays in the Kingdom of Rhovanion. My father was as yet ignorant of the more informal ways of Vidugavia's court and presented himself as if he was still at the Gondorian Court, all the while still chattering with his teeth. Vidugavia managed to keep a straight face until my father was finished after what he broke out in his trademark roaring laughter, much to my father's confusion. It wasn't helped by the fact Vidugavia started shouting in the Northern language, making the rest of the court laugh as well. My father thought he had made a grave mistake and was already trying to apologise, when someone finally bothered to translate what the King was saying. Vidugavia had only been making jokes about the "frozen" manners of the Gondorian Court.

The audience more or less set the tone for the first year of my father's stay in Rhovanion. He was a polite and quiet man, who always carefully weighed his words. The Northmen are a passionate, fiery people though, quick to anger and quick to laugh. They often act on the spur of the moment, and love a good brawl. They didn't understand my father's behaviour and often made fun of it. It was good-natured though and my father took it in his stride. He quickly learned the Northmen language and tried to be more easy in his manners. He still remained somewhat of an outsider however until the rebellion.

Though Vidugavia called himself King of Rhovanion it was still a somewhat disputed title and attacks by other Northmen Lords were not unusual. This time it was a one of Vidugavia's own vassals, Lord Ahtagais, who turned on him. Vidugavia had conquered his clan ten years ago and Ahtagais had sworn fealty after being beaten in fair combat. He had now seen the opportunity to break away and he had made a lightning raid against one of the small villages that had sprouted in the neighbourhood of Vidugavia's Hall. Vidugavia was furious of course and he immediately called together his warrior band. This included most members of the court but to many people's surprise my father also showed up, clad in the full attire of a soldier of Gondor. The only explanation he gave was "King Vidugavia is an ally of Gondor after all". Soon everyone rode out and they joined with the war-bands of other Lordsunderway. Among them was Theodahad's war band and that of Vidumavi, Vidugavia's son and daughter who had both been attending business elsewhere.

Ahtagais was a cunning foe and tracking him down proved to be a difficult task. The weather was bad and the constant rain made it difficult to follow the trail. It would have been easy to lose heart in such a situation but my father surprised everyone by showing them his other side. I've described him as being quiet but he also possessed a silent passion he seldom showed. Every new burned hamlet enraged him further and he turned into a relentless hunter. When the other Lords had already left for their bedrolls he would still be in Vidugavia's tent poring over the maps and planning. "Uncle" Ecca told me it was like "seeing a lone wolf track down his prey". This is what gave rise to my father's Northman name. The Northmen had always had problems with his name, usually mangling it to something that sounded like "Walaikar". Now however they started to call him "Swartwulf", which means "black wolf" in the Northmen's language.

It was only after two near sleepless weeks that they finally found Ahtagais. And the end of their problems were as yet nowhere in sight. Ahtagais had well prepared his attacks and his war-band was more numerous than Vidugavia's. A frontal charge, as the Northmen were used to, was out of the question. My father then proposed a plan that might very well turn the tables. There were two small hills nearby, side by side and crested with a thick pine-woods, with between them a valley of sorts. My fathers plan was to split Vidugavia's forces, and to hide one part in the woods on both hills while the other would draw Ahtagais's band into the valley. Then, when given the signal the rest would attack Ahtagais's force now funnelled in the valley. The plan was not well received at first, not because the Northmen didn't see the logic of it but because for the plan to function well, the force that would draw Ahtagais's band in would have to fight on foot and form a shield-wall. The Northmen are horsemen and the thought of leaving their beloved horses didn't sit well on them. My father had help from an unexpected corner though. Vidumavi, the King's daughter, who was usually rather quiet during councils suddenly spoke up and convinced her father and the rest of the lords to follow my father's plan. She even managed to make her father allow her to be in the shield-wall.

There is a saying that every battle-plan becomes useless as soon as the fight is started. I've found that this saying often proves true and this battle was no exception. Shield-walls were as yet seldom used among the Northmen and it had never been used on such a large scale. Shield-walls are dangerous and fearsome places where even the bravest men tremble. Ahtagais charged head first into my father's shield-wall and only his and Vidumavi's encouragements kept the men steady. Still the charge was not well received and Ahtagais nearly broke through. The shield-wall buckled and was forced into an arrow-point with Vidumavi and my father at its head. The situation was critical. Ahtagais was forcing the edges of the wall inwards, threatening to fold his cavalry around, while my father and Vidumavi were fighting for their lives at the head. My father kept his cool though and slowly retreated, pushing the point back into the line. Then, once they formed a line again the whole wall slowly backed into the valley. By now Ahtagais had lost the momentum of his charge and his horsemen were fruitlessly hacking into a solid wall of lime wood. Shields broke, and men fell of course, but every gap was immediately filled by those next and behind the fallen and the wall never broke. Frustration made Ahtagais blind and he never saw the trap he was walking into. As soon as the signal was blown, the rest of Vidugavia´s force came charging into Ahtagais´s and after that it was only a matter of time.

They brought back Ahtagais back trussed like a chicken and swung over his horse´s saddle. He was executed without being allowed to hold a sword. The other Lords that had followed him were most of the time banished while the Lords who had remained loyal were richly rewarded. Vidugavia also tried to reward my father, but my father politely refused. It didn´t do anything to the fact though that the Northmen´s attitude towards my father had thoroughly changed. He was no longer the respected ambassador now, he was one of them, Swartwulf  
the Quiet.

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For those who are not such incorrigible geeks as me. The Northmen are one of te side-braches of the Edain. Unlike the Numenoreans they stayed in Middle-earth during the Second age and did not receive the gift of long life. They settled south of the Mirkwood and east of what will once become Rohan. They were direct neighbours of both the Gondorians and the Easterlings and allies with the former. A few centuries from now their decendants will come to the rescue of Steward Cirion and receive Calenardhon as a gift in return. From then on they will be known as the Rohirrim.


	2. Chapter 2

It was not only the Northmen's attitude that had changed after the rebellion. My father changed too. Though he remained the quiet man I came to know he started to let go of his Gondorian manners and by the turn of another year it was impossible to distinguish him from the other Northmen. His black hair was the only clue that he was actually from Gondor. He wore Northmen clothing, spoke the Northmen language as well as any and behaved in the same way as the other warriors. It wasn't even a conscious change. My father just felt at home among the Northmen. He loved their spontanous way of doing and the fierce determination they displayed in everything they did. In Gondor spontaneity wasn't as well received. In Gondor people had time. The Northmen behaved as every day could be their last and enjoyed every one in full. My father may have come from a long-lived race he was also a warrior and he knew the feeling. Only four years before he had been fighting at his father's side in the campaign against the Easterlings and he had been serving in the Gondorian army since he had become adult. Death had never been far from his mind since then.

Thus it came that when Vidumavi came back a year after the rebellion, she didn't recognize my father. My father admitted years later he didn't recognize her immediately either. But then he was, according to "Uncle" Ecca, too busy with falling in love with her. Vidumavi had changed during the last year. Not much but just enough to make my father see her as more than just the warrior he had fought with in the shield-wall.

Two days later she sought him out, curious about who the new warrior really was. That was the beginning of a love that would last until Vidumavi´s death. A love that would result in me but alas also fifteen years of civil war. But I´m getting ahead. They didn´t fall in each other´s arms as soon as they saw each other of course. Their took their time. All in all it took them a year, to admit their love to each other. But when they did, they did it the right way. The party that ensued send, again according to "Uncle" Ecca, almost every warrior to bed for three days straight.

Half a year later my father got Rómendacil's permission to marry Viudumavi. There had been noises in the council about the fact that a prince of Gondor would marry a woman of the Lesser Men, but my father was not in the direct line of inheritance so it was eventually allowed. They married on the first day of Cermië in the 1254th year of the Third Age.  
Nowadays when people in Rhovanion talk about grand party they say: It was party like the wedding of Swartwulf and Vidumavi. I don't know what is exaggeration and what is true but I know that it was one of the few parties that gave "Uncle" Ecca and King Vidugavia an headache. And they were both well known for their enormous drinking capacities. In fact the only ones who didn't have and headache afterward were my father and my mother. But that was more because they were doing something else than because of their alcohol tolerance. I also know that I was not the only baby born nine months later.


	3. Chapter 3

My youth was probably one of the happiest times of my life. What else can a young boy ask for but wide open plains, haystacks aplenty, grand halls with many hiding corners and above all many other children to play with. Vidugavia's court didn't function much like a Gondorian one but more like one big family that included everyone up to the King down to the lowest stable-boy. Children addressed pretty much every adult man or woman as 'Uncle' or 'Aunt' and every elder with 'Grandfather' or 'Grandmother'. Everyone knew each- others name and it wasn't an uncommon to see the king congratulate one of the kitchen-maids on her marriage or one of the dog-boys on the birth of his baby-sister. Everyone had things to do of course, the servants' children often had chores of their own while the warriors' children had lessons to follow. There was still plenty of time to play though and if there wasn't we made it. I have many times returned home all muddy and wet to find either my father or my mother ready to scold me for missing yet another history lesson. There was one lesson I never missed though: the martial arts lessons. In a country where every noble was a warrior and every warrior could become a noble it was pretty much the dream of every boy and also of a few girls to become one. I was no exception and I faithfully showed up at each lesson.

I had a variety of teachers. 'Uncle' Cniva was the one who taught me horsemanship. He was one of the few dark-haired Northmen I knew and a tall quiet man who was said to be able to speak the language of horses. The most skittish and nervous horse would calm down around him and even the stable-master would ask his advice sometimes. He tried to teach me all the tricks he knew and though I've always been to fiery to be as good as he was, I soon became an excellent rider. Alaric was responsible for teaching me the spear and the bow. He was one of the youngest warriors and I called him 'cousin' instead of 'uncle'. He was very good though and in later years I heard he became Theodahad's champion. As all young warriors he had a sizable amount of pride however and in the beginning he rather resented the fact he had to teach me. He soon became one of my best friend though and later my source of love-advice. Not that it was very good.  
I had two teachers for swordfighting, 'uncle' Odovacar taught me to fight like a Northman while my father tried to teach me the Gondorian way. I have to say I thought it rather silly at the time to learn two styles. My father was a wise man though and he may have foreseen what was to come. He persevered and I would thank him for that many years later.  
My last teacher was 'uncle' Ecca and the only one I choose myself. Though at first glance I can be mistaken for a Northman with my fair hair an blue eyes I have inherited the lanky build and slow growth of the Gondorians. This made me at times a favourite target for the bigger boys and though I was already a fierce fighter I usually ended up with more bruises than them. It was after one of those fights, when I came back home, limping and with a nice black eye, that I ran into 'uncle' Ecca. Though Ecca was married he never had children of his own and since he had been my mother's godfather he considered me as something akin to a grand-son. He was outraged when he heard what had happened and he was about to storm to give those boys a spanking when I stopped him. Ecca was a rather old warrior by now, but together with his drinking capacity he had been well known in his younger days for his fistfights. So I asked him to teach me. His first reaction was to laugh for I was, as I said earlier, a rather scrawny little boy at that time. I've always been stubborn though and in the end he agreed. My father wasn't very happy about this, he didn't want his son to become a common brawler, but I have never regretted them. Sword-fights don't always end clean.

With teachers as good as those I soon became a reasonable fighter and when I turned fifteen I was for the first-time allowed to ride with the King's war band. I was very proud of that fact and couldn't stop talking about it for days. I didn't understand the knowing smiles then, but I did a few weeks later. Though Vidugavia had proved himself to be a just and good leader over the years there were still some resentment among the lords about the way he had forcibly brought them under his rule. A month after my birthday there was an uprising and though it wasn't as big as Ahtagais's it was sizeable enough for the whole war-band to march out, including me. I didn't know the horror of battle then and I was confident in my skills, so fear was the thing furthest from my mind. When we ran into our foes one week later it came back with a vengeance though. Shield-walls are the most fearsome places on earth especially for fiteen year old boys and this was a lesson I learned very well that day. I never suspected that my greatest enemy would not be my opponent before me but my own body that was screaming to me to bolt. I was trembling all over and only shame was keeping me in position. I fought though, and according to those beside me I did it well, yelling challenges all the way. I wouldn't know, I can only remember the gut-wrenching fear in the beginning and then the mindless haze thereafter. In the end we won the battle with relatively few losses but I wouldn't be able to tell how. My father found me afterwards sitting on a log staring in the distance. He had to call me three times before I reacted after what I promptly broke up in tears. Strangely enough his first reacion was to smile. I had discovered the true nature of war and for that he was proud. I knew now that a battle was not the field of glory it was described in the songs. It was simply a place were people died fast and were only a combination of skill, guts and enormous luck kept you alive. When I finally calmed down I had one of the longest conversations I've ever had with my father. The sun had already set when we finally made it back to camp and though I couldn't be called a man yet I had definitely left my boyhood behind.

The year that came next was rather strange but not unpleasant. I was a true warrior now, but I was still standing somewhere in between the world of children and that of adults. One moment I was pulling pranks with my old play-mates or getting scolded by my father for my awful writing while the next I was trying to kiss my first girl or practicing with the war-band. Yes it was rather confusing, but I was content and I wanted it to never end. It was not be however.


	4. Chapter 4

It all changed when an old friend of my father arrived to Vidugavia's hall with an urgent message: Miriel, King Narmacil's wife had died childless. When my father told me this, I didn't understand the consequences at first. Maybe I didn't want to. Though I knew both were family, I had never seen them and never expected I would. They were Gondorians, while I considered myself to be a Northman through and through. I expected to live my whole life here, marry one of my 'uncles' daughters, serve in Vidugavia's war-band, and when he died in Theodahad's and even later when the time would come in Dagareiks's, my cousin. But Miriel's death had great consquences for that future. The fact that she had been unable to produce children meant that when Narmacil died the throne would pass on to his younger brother Calmacil. After that it would pass on to his eldest son Ròmendacil and after him to my father and thus eventually to me. Miriels death meant that from the offspring of a sideline I had suddenly become the eventual heir of the Gondorian Throne. I still refused to see consequences though when my father explained it. Surely we could at least stay in Rhovanion until my father had to become King? My father sadly shook his head. He understood my unwillingness to leave Rhovanion, he too loved this country dearly and he didn't have such a close bond with it as I had. But there was way around it, we had to move to Gondor.

The morning of our departure I sulked like a small child. It was fine day though and the cold wind soon dispelled my foul mood and it wasn't before long that I was roaming the plains at the vanguard of the caravan, saying my own private good-bye to the land that had nursed me during the first sixteen years of my life. I was sad of course to leave but I have to admit that I was also feeling equal amounts of curiosity. My father had told me much about his country of birth and I was eager to see it with my own eyes. The caravan was slow-going and I had plenty of time to explore the changing landscape. Sometimes I would depart early in the morning, taking a lunch and my bow with me, only to rejoin the caravan in the evening. It was on one of those trips that I first came in contact with the Rangers. I was lunching on a hill overlooking the place were the Snowbourn joined the Entwash, while Wintersky,my stallion was grazing somewhat lower. Suddenly I heard Wintersky whinny and I had barely the time to nock an arrow to my bow before I was surrounded by four green-clad men. I cursed my carelessness, 'uncle' Ecca would have my hide if he discovered I had allowed myself to be trapped like this. For all I knew these men could be Dunlanders, or brigands. Then one of the men chuckled and they all lowered their cowls. I hadn't seen many Gondorians until now but those four couldn't be mistaken for anything else. They had a certain tilt to their cheekbones, a certain sharpness to their faces I had only seen in my father's face and my own until now.  
-Don't fear young one, we do not mean any harm. We were just curious what brought a young Northman so far south.  
-Who are you?  
'Wouldn't it be to us to ask that question?,' the one who had laughed asked with another chuckle .'You are the stranger in our country after all.'  
I inclined my head, accepting their point.  
'Alright, I am Vinitharya son of Swartwulf and Vidumavi,' I said, out of habit using my father's Northman name. 'I ventured out from our caravan that is travelling to Osgiliath. I wanted to see a bit more of the country.'  
-Well, pleased to meet you, young Vinitharya. These three are Galdor, Eärnil and Minastan and I am Faramir. We are Rangers of Calenardhon. We are patrolling here and we got curious when we saw your stallion.  
'More like you got curious Faramir, 'the one called Galdor interjected.  
-Ah shut up you. You won't say it but you were just as curious as I. It isn't often that we meet one of our northern cousins. So how do you like our fair Gondor, so far?  
I pretended to think deeply about the question.  
-Not bad.  
'Not bad?!'Faramir brust out in mock indignation. "The fairest and grandest country of Middle-earth, and he calls it 'Not bad'! Galdor restrain me before I give this uncivilized youth the spanking he deserves.  
Galdor 's only reaction was to laugh and he wasn't the only one. Both Minastan and Eärnil where chuckling and I was hard-pressed not to snort out the water I had just drank.  
In the end we took our lunch together and we spent a pleasant moment chatting and joking. Faramir was obviously the joker of the four with Galdor as his unwilling side-kick. Minastan and Eärnil were quieter, though Eärnil somtimes showed he had a rather sarcastic streak and Minastan could tell wonderful stories. We split up again after lunch, the Rangers to continue their patrol, me to rejoin the caravan. It was only in the evening that I realised that none of them had known who I was. It kept me wondering how they would have reacted if they had.

Two weeks after my meeting with the Rangers we arrived to Osgiliath. My father had told me many tales about it but nothing could compare with the reality. I had always though Vidugavia's hall to be big, but some of the buildings I saw looming over the walls could house it three times over. When I passed through the gates I couldn't help to feel rather uncomfortable though. Maybe my Gondorian blood is more dominant than I thought and I was somehow feeling what was to come here. I will never know. The feeling did not subside when I saw the mixed reactions of the people who had come out to see us. Most were just curious, but on some faces I could see doubt and sometimes even disgust. Of what I didn't know but it made me uneasy and I was oddly relieved when we left the streets behind us and entered the courtyard of the palace. There we were greeted by Ròmendacil, his wife Mairen, his brother, Meneldil and couple of my father's friends. It was a shock to see my grandfather. The only grandfather I had known until now had been Vidugavia, and though he had always been a vital man, he had clearly been old by the time we left. His hair and beard had been grey and on bad days his back and old wounds would pain him. Ròmendacil however still looked like he could have been my father's brother. I knew Gondorians lived much longer than the Northmen of course, but somehow I had still imagined Ròmendacil as some kind of vital but middle-aged man, with a few dignified streaks of grey. His hair however was still as black as a raven's wing and only his grey eyes told me his actual age. It was then that I began to realise what it meant to have blood of the Kings of Númenor.  
-So you are my grandson aren't you?  
I was snapped back to reality by my grandfather's voice.  
'Seems so,' I answered without thinking. From the chuckle that escaped from Mairen's lips and the slight frown that appeared on Meneldil's brow it hadn't been quite the right way to answer the Regent of the realm. Ròmendacil seemed to like my answer though and started to laugh. A relieved smile made it's way to my face. My grandfather might not have looked like what I had imagined him but it seemed that my impression of his character had not been wrong.  
-Answered like a true Northman, lad. Now tell me how is that old rascal Vidugavia doing? Your father would only write me about the treaties and the trade agreements.  
My smile became broader. I understood now why Vidugavia and Ròmendacil had gotten along so well, and I knew I could actually love this new grandfather.  
-Grey by now, sir, complaining about his back when it's convenient but still beating the hell out of the younger warriors.  
Ròmendacil chuckled.  
-Yes I guess he would. Now let us go inside. I am sure your travel have wearied you all.  
Before me and my father could go inside though my grandfather held us both back.  
-Could I speak to you both after you have rested? I have something to discuss with you.  
My father sighed.  
-Is it that bad ?  
-I'm afraid so son.  
I frowned, what was going on? My father saw my confused face and put a hand on my shoulder.  
-Later. Let us rest now.


	5. Chapter 5

My new room was very different from the one I had in Rhovanion. Servants had already brought my stuff in to my surprise, but somehow even with my personal things surrounding me I didn't feel at home. I tried to fix it by rearranging a few things but to no avail. The room still seemed cold andimpersonal. And then the difference struck me. In Rhovanion the walls had been made of wood and filled with little carvings made by the previous occupants. I had added my own over the years, at first clumsy attempts at my name, then as I grew older more elaborate carvings depicting swords, horses and heroes of old tales. Just after my fifteenth birthday I had even added a great carving above my bed depicting a Green Man. The walls of my new room however were made of cold white stone, unmarked. I smiled. Now that I knew the problem I also knew how to fix it. After the meeting with my grandfather I would search for some paint and start adding some color to those walls.

When my father came to fetch me one hour later I almost didn't recognize him. I had never seen him looking that way. Gone were theNorthman-style braids and the bold reds, yellows and greens His hair was now neatly tied in a queue and he was clothed in more subdued colors, mostly blue, grey and white. I realized then that Swartwulf the Quiet was only a part of who my father was. I was now seeing another part of him, Valacar, a true son of Gondor.  
-Ready?  
I nodded. I had taken a bath and changed but I only had Northman clothes and my hair was still in braids, decorated with a few beads. I blew one away that ticking against my temple. How odd a pair we must have seemed when we made our way to my grandfather's study.

My grandfather was studying a map when we arrived. He looked up as soon as he heard us and though he smiled I thought I saw something sad flash through his eyes.  
-Ah there you are. Sit down both of you. It may take a while. Can I offer you something to drink?  
We both nodded. He quickly rummaged through one of the many cupboards of his study and came back with three full tankards. I smiled when the scent made its way up my nose, good strong ale of the North.Ròmendacil chuckled when he saw my smile.  
-Vidugavia knows how I've grown to love the stuff during the eastern campaign. He regularly sends me a few barrels.  
I laughed and my father couldn't help to smile either. He quickly sobered up though.  
-So how bad is it?  
-Worse than I could ever imagine. Even Meneldil has made some remarks and I thought him to be more open-minded.  
I frowned.  
-Wait a second, what are we talking about in the first place?  
Ròmendacil sighed and shared a quick glance with my father.  
-How can I say this?  
-What?  
He sighed again.  
-Vinitharya, some people, no wait , in fact quite a few people think that you have no right on the Throne, because you are not a full Gondorian.  
-That's nonsense! What difference does it make that I'm half a Northman? The Northmen didn't care I was half Gondorian. They didn't even care that dad was a full Gondorian.  
-I wouldn't know either lad. But apparently it does make a difference for some. They think it may lessen the blood of Gondor.  
-Well it's too bad for them then. I am not going back after I had to come all the way here.  
My grandfather chuckled but his heart wasn't in it.  
-I wish it were that simple. But some of these dissenters are quite important nobles.  
I made a face. This was one of the reasons why I hated politics.  
-Okay right, so I guess I 'll have to make them accept me. How do we do that?  
- You'll have to fit in. Make them forget you are also a Northman.  
I tugged at a strand of my very fair hair.  
-That is going to be difficult with these... And I'm not going to dye it.  
My grandfather laughed, genuinely this time  
'And I'm not going to ask that of you. I rather like that unruly wheat-field of yours. But you'll have to make a compromise I'm afraid. These.' he pointed at one of my beads. 'Will have to go, as will your Northmen clothes. And you will have take lessons in Gondorian lore, and elvish. I don't know how much your father taught you but you 'll be expected to know it better than anyone else. Each mistake will be used against you.'  
I sighed but I nodded. And then I had thought I would be rid of the lessons when I had become a warrior.  
-There is also one last thing. We will have to give you another name.  
-WHat! Why that? What 's wrong with Vinitharya?  
-No matter how you look at it it is a Northman name, lad. And as silly as it may sound some people might accept you better if you had a Gondorian name.  
I sighed. Though I hated the idea I knew my grandfather was right.  
-Alright then but can I still be Vinitharya to the family and my friends?  
He smiled.  
-That would be alright lad. I know what that name means to you. From what I heard from your father it is a proud name, worthy of you.  
'So what name would you like,'my father asked.  
I shrugged.  
-I don't know, what is a name worthy of a heir of Gondor.  
They named several. It was rather odd to chose a name for myself but in the end I chose Eldacar. It was a rather random choice but I liked of the ending was similar to my father's name and the name somehow made me think of green plains.

Thus it came to pass that when I was formally presented at the court, my hair was in a short queue, I was clothed in the cool blues and greys of Gondor and I was presented as Eldacar son of Valacar and not as Vinitharya son of Swartwulf.


	6. Chapter 6

The months after my arrival were frustrating for me. It may have sounded easy when my Grandfather told me to but fitting in proved to be a more difficult task than I thought. Things had been a lot more easy-going at Vidugavia's court and I had trouble to adapt to the more formal ways of Gondor. No more 'uncles' or 'aunts', everyone had to be called ' My Lord' or ' My Lady'. Servants bowed and did not stop to chat, while prying their names from them seemed to be an impossible task. No more long rides with Wintersky or a few moments for myself either, I was woken at dawn by a rather stern looking elderly woman, and my day followed a tightly planned schedule that seldom left room for some private moments. What irritated me most though was being treated like a child again. I may have been considered an adult and a warrior in Rhovanion, but here I was still very much considered an immature boy. Practicing or fighting with the Guard had of course been immediately ruled out, not only because I was too young but also because it was not an heir's place to mingle with the common soldiers. But I also had to follow lessons again and that was what frustated me the most. The lore and history lessons weren't much of a problem, most of the Northmen lore is oral and that had helped me to develop an excellent memory. The elvish lessons where bad though. My father had never been able to make me sit down for it, and I had to begin by the basics. Writing and understanding went well but I had a very strong Northern accent when I spoke. I rather liked it, liked how it made the language sing and roll, but it absolutely horrified my teacher who spent hours and hours to try to correct me. I've often stalked away muttering frustrated curses in the Northern language. The only way I could vent these frustration was during practice. A heir was still supposed to be able to fight after all and as soon I would be mature I would be expected to lead parts of the Gondorian army.

It was during one of these practice sessions that I met Castamir for the first time. He was the grandson of my grandfather's brother, Meneldil, which made him my cousin of sorts. I learned that only afterwards though. I was practicing my own when I suddenly heard someone approaching. I stopped and looked around.

-What, in the name of the Valar are you doing here, Northman?

I turned my head to the source of the voice. There he stood, a boy of about my age, though slightly shorter and the finest example of Gondorian aristocracy. Expensive clothes, tailored to fit exactly, raven black hair tied back in a neat queue, pale skin that seldom saw the sun, and eyes of such a pale grey they seemed white.

'I could ask the same thing to you,' I said just to annoy him a bit. It seemed to work.

-Well OBVIOUSLY, I am a member of the royal house, that gives me the RIGHT to be here. YOU however a just some Northman peasant.

I let the insults pass. I had already heard them in many different versions, though usually with a bit more subtlety. I only smiled and leaned on my sword, vaguely wondering if I also sounded that childish sometimes.

-Hey what are you doing! Answer me peasant!

-Just listening to your melodious, girly voice, buddy.

I'll admit that wasn't the best way to handle it, but I was frustrated and longing for a good fight. He had a sword and I assumed he could use it.

-WHAT! That does it! You 'll anwer that insult on sword point, peasant. Get ready if you can.

I smiled again.

-Anytime buddy.

I slid into a fighting stance. He should have known then that he was facing someone who knew what he was doing. I acted as if I had done this a thousand times, I had in fact, but he chose to ignore it.

-Ready peasant?

-As I said, anytime.

I had been right, he could use a sword. It was obvious he'd had good teachers and had learned well, but then what else could be expected from a member of the royal house? I had one advantage he didn't have though, I had fought in real battles. I had learned to fight under any circumstance, while hungry, while thirsty , while tired, or a combination of all three. Under such circumstances I had developed quite some stamina, a stamina he lacked.

He came at me with fast and strong attacks which I had somtimes trouble to counter. I saw him smile, obviously he expected a quick victory. But that smile dissapeared when the fight drew on and I kept countering him. After then minutes he was panting while I was still breathing easily. I think it was then that he realised that I was toying with him. He grew frustrated and started to fight more recklessly. I only had to wait for a mistake now. It came in the form of an unbalanced lunge. I gave him a slight push and before he knew it he was sprawled on the ground with my sword under his chin.  
'Thank you very much, for this delightfull sparring match. May I have the honor to know your name?' I asked with an impish smile.  
-Castamir son of Thorondir, son of Meneldil. And you'd better remember that name peasant because you'll hear of me after this.  
-I'm sure I will... cousin.  
-Eh?  
-Oh wait I didn't present myself, did I? Eldacar son of Valacar, son of Rómendacil. Pleased to meet you.  
His face was priceless. Never had I seen someone look so surprised and mortified. I gave him a formal bow and left. I missed the hateful glare he sent to my back however.

Not all the people I met during my first months were like Castamir though. About a week after the sparring match I had the pleasure to meet the delightful little creature that went by the name of Eilinel. I had taken the habit to check on Wintersky every small free moment I had. He was a warhorse after all and he had been trained to let no-one but me come near him. I didn't have the time anymore to take care of him however and tough I had managed to find someone who Wintersky could stand, he would still become unmanageable if I didn't visit him daily. It was during one of those visits that I met her. I was greeting Wintersky when I suddenly noticed a small girl staring intently at me and Wintersky. She looked about ten years old, but it was difficult to say because of her small size. As far as I knew she might have been younger. She wore a formal dress that might once have been white but was now stained with mud and littered with straw. Her black hair had once been braided in court style but now looked rather disheveled. She had grey eyes I noted, as many Gondorians but hers were a shade darker than usual, looking rather stormy.  
'Is that your horse?'she chirped in a clear high voice.  
-Yes. Why little one?  
-He's mean. He tried to bite me when I offered him an apple.  
'Did he hurt you,' I asked rather alarmed. Wintersky was indeed a mean bastard, and tried to bite anyone who came too close, even children. In Rhovanion children knew better than to approach a warhorse but obviously it wasn't the case here.  
-No, but he's still mean.  
I sighed in relief. I had already enough troubles now without having to deal with an angry noble who was complaining because Wintersky had bit his daughter.  
-Why would he bite me? I didn't do anything wrong.  
I brought my attention back to the little girl who was standing before me.  
-Wintersky here,is a warhorse and he's been trained to bite everyone who approaches him, except me.  
-Why?  
-It's his way of fighting and that way we can avoid that someone poisons him  
-Why would someone poison a horse?  
-An enemy who would like to incapacitate me.  
-You have enemies?  
-I am a warrior.  
-Oh  
She fell silent for a while and observed me while I started brushing Wintersky's coat. Then with the suddenness so usual of children she asked another question.  
-Why doesn't he bite you?  
-I've seen him born and I have raised him since he was a foal. He knows I'm his friend.  
-Oh  
She fell silent again. I saw her stare longingly at Wintersky's coat though.  
'Would you like to stroke him,'I asked on an impulse. She looked at me with big eyes.  
-Won't he bite me again?  
-Not if I'm with you and tell him you are okay.  
She looked doubtful but then gave a nod.  
-Alright. What's your name? I'll have to present you to Wintersky first.  
She giggled a bit at the notion of getting presented to a horse.  
-I'm Eilinel. And who are you?  
I hesitated a bit and then on an impulse told her my Northmen name instead of my Gondorian one.  
'Vi- Vini-tar-yaaa,' she said after me, stumbling on the foreign sounds.  
'Can I call you Vini?' she then asked me after a moment of consideration.  
'If you want,'I answered with a laugh. 'But let's present you to Wintersky. You have to approach him slowly and from the front so that he can see you well.'

And so it came to pass that I presented little Eilinel to Wintersky. He accepted her surprisingly fast and ten minutes later she was stroking his nose with a delighted smile.  
-It's so soft! It must be amazing to sit on his back!  
-Would you like to ride him?  
-Oh yes please!  
'Alright then,' I said on an impulse. My history teacher had fallen unexpectedly ill and I had a few hours to fill for once. I quickly took Wintersky's harness and saddled him with practiced ease. It had been such a long time I had made a ride with him. I quickly wrote a note to tell where I was and pinned it on a post of Wintersky's box.  
-Now let's get you up there, little one.  
I lifted her up in the saddle with a huff and then vaulted myself behind her.  
-Now let's go. Aaya Wintersky!  
It was all the encouragements he needed. With a whinny he broke into a gallop. Eilinel gave a fearful shriek but I had my arm safely around her waist and soon she was laughing with a wild joy. We stormed through the streets of Osgiliath leaving stunned and befuddled citizens in our wake and before we knew it we had passed the gates, riding through the wide plains beyond it. Eilinel was a delight to be with. She obviously didn't often get the occasion to go outside and everything was a source of endless fascination. I lost track of time and it was only my grumbling stomach how late it actually was. It was close to dinner-time and if we didn't want to miss it we would have to hurry. Luckily for me Wintersky was a very fast horse and we made it back in record time. Back at stable I was waited for by my father and a very worried-looking woman who I assumed to be the much talked about nanny. As soon as I put Eilinel on the ground she rushed to her charge and began to fuss about her appearance.  
-Oh Eilinel, you must never run off like that again. I was worried sick about you! And look what you have done to your new dress! It's all muddy.  
My father caught my gaze with a little smile.  
-You know who you took with you?  
I shook my head.  
-The daughter of the prince of Belfalas.  
I raised an eyebrow. The Prince of Belfalas was one of the most important nobles of the realm.  
'I'm keeping high company these days it seems,' I remarked dryly.  
My father laughed.  
-How did you run into each other?  
I nodded to the nanny who was now trying to make Eilinel presentable.  
-I was looking for you, and figured you might be visiting Wintersky again. It's there that I met Rian who was desperately looking for Eilinel. Apparently she had run off to visit horses before. I saw your note and from there it wasn't difficult to figure out the rest.  
I smiled and looked over to Eilinel. She was talking animatedly, telling about her amazing ride with 'Vini'. My father raised an eyebrow when he heard the nickname.  
-'Vini'?  
-She couldn't quite pronounce Vinitharya.  
My father laughed again.  
-Now let's go. Dinner is about to be served and you are supposed to meet Eilinel's father today.  
-Let's hope he is as interesting as his daughter.


	7. Chapter 7

The years till my twenty-fifth birthday were basically a long wait until I could switch the court for the Gondorian army. No matter how I tried I never could feel completely at home there. A lot of the nobles turned by over the years but some did not. Dealing daily with their remarks was tiresome and I could never quite adapt to the formal ways of the Gondorian Court.

The day I left for my post I did so with a light heart. I would miss my family and the few friends I had of course but I would now go back to what I did best: fighting. I only shot one backward glance when I shut the door of my room. It was reserved for the Green Man I had painted above my bed the week after I had first arrived. The Housekeeper would surely erase it, now that I had vacated the room. She nearly had a fit when she discovered me nine years ago, green paint on my cheek and that huge Green Man freshly painted on the wall. I smiled and let the door slid shut. I did not plan to return often enough to see it.

I was sent off with all the pomp usual of the Gondorian Court but my parents chose to spoil it in the most Northman manner possible. When I bowed to them they suddenly drew me in a family hug much to the dismay of the Ceremony Master and the rest of the court.' Be safe,' my mother whispered to me in the Northman language.  
-You know I can fight.  
-Yes but I also know how.  
'Recklessly and wildly, just like a Northman,' my father added still in the Northman language. I smiled. We seldom spoke it now. Even with my mother I would speak westron in public. She even had gained a Gondorian name over the years, Galadwen, which was a direct translation of her Northman name. For a moment however we were Swartwulf, Vidumavi and Vinitharya again. Then suddenly my grandfather joined in.  
-Father?  
-Ceremony is overrated.  
We all agreed, laughing. The best way to say farewell is still with a hug.

My new post was in Calenardhon. I was to captain the Rangers there. I had smiled when I heard it. Were Faramir and his friends still patrolling there? I would find out soon enough I figured.  
The journey to Cair Andros, where I would meet with my unit, was uneventful. The arrival however was ... fun. Like last time they appeared out of nothing, surprising everyone. Well everyone, except me. I had learned my lesson last time. I was surprised though when the front ranger took off the cloth covering his lower face. It was Faramir. He was just as surprised as me.  
-Vinitharya?!  
I nodded.  
-That's a surprise! Boy you have grown! I didn't fancy seeing you here!  
I laughed.  
-Neither did I.  
He laughed too.'Fair! I suppose you are here to escort the prince?'he asked still smiling.  
I nodded again with an amused smile.  
His gaze went to the escort behind me, going from one face to another. Then he turned back to me.  
'Could you tell which of them is the right one?'he whispered. 'I don't know what that princeling is supposed to look like.'  
-Take a good look at my face then.  
He frowned at first not understanding what I meant. Then the realization dawned on him and he looked at me with wide eyes.  
-What! But you told me your name was Vinitharya son of Vidumavi and Swartwulf!  
I laughed again.  
-It was and is. Vinitharya is the name I was given at birth. I only took the name Eldacar after we met. Galadwen is a translation of Vidumavi and my father was called Swartwulf in Rhovanion. I still am Vinitharya son of Vidumavi and Swartwulf but for the court I am now Eldacar son of Galadwen and Valacar.  
-I-I am sorry to have insulted you your Highness.  
-Oh stop that, I already got enough of that at the court. No offence taken.  
I jumped of Wintersky's back.  
-Now what about you show this princeling where he's going to sleep. I could sleep untill next week.  
Faramir's face crinkled into a smile. I was going to like with the Rangers.

My escort left the next day and as soon as they were gone the Rangers broke up to go back to their main and only camp at Dunharrow. To my surprise they left me relatively in peace during the journey. I had expected the hazing to begin as soon as the escort was out of sight. I may have been their prince but I also was their very new and very green captain. I was with my twenty-five years the youngest of them all, and though I already had some battle-experience unlike most nobles of my age, I knew next to nothing about strategy except from what I had learned from books. On top of that I was clearly a cavalryman, while the rangers where mostly secretive hunters. In short they had every reason to haze me a bit. But they didn't. Oh they teased me alright but they seemed mostly to be very curious who their new captain was. I wasn't one to complain.

We arrived at Dunharrow a forthnight later. I was awed when I saw it. It was probably one of the best situated bases I had ever seen. The only acces to it was a long, steep and winding path that could have been held by ten determined warriors if need be. The path gave way to a plateau surrounded by steep mountains were the camp itself was situated. Behind the camp I could faintly see a small wood which probably provided the rangers with food. The place was a natural fortress.  
'Impressive huh?' Faramir said.  
I nodded.  
-You've got to be crazy to assiege that.  
-Oh there are enough who are. They never try again though.  
-And who is they?  
-Orcs from the mountains mostly and bandits. This part of Gondor is relatively empty which makes it exellent breeding ground for them. Our duty is to hunt and deal with the small groups and form a first defense against the bigger ones untill the regular army arrives.  
-In short guerilla duty.  
Faramir nodded.  
-Now let's go, I'm sure you are _thrilled_ to meet to rest of us.  
'You bet,' I said sourly. He laughed.  
-Hey relax. You've been doing great till now. You may still be a bit green but at least you admit it. And unlike the others you don't complain.  
-The others?  
-Yeah, we have a few nobles' sons who bought their way in as lieutenants. At first they were permanently complaining about the condictions. After that we either kicked them out or they learned to shut up.  
-I'm surprised they even bothered.  
-Yeah me too but suddenly about two years ago they started coming in. We still don't know why.  
I groaned. I knew why. Oromë's beard, how I hated politics.  
-What?  
-About two years ago it was decided that I would come here when I turned twenty-five.  
Faramir spat  
-When will those nobles learn that the army is not a place for politics.  
-Don't ask me. I was more than happy to leave it behind.  
Faramir gave a snort of amusement.

The next day I went to the practice fields with my bow. I had my first meeting with the lieutenants that afternoon but right now I had some time and I wanted to get a bit better acquitained with the men I was about to command. I choose a target and was about to aim when an somewhat greying Ranger hailed me,  
-Hey that's a strange bow you have there newbie. Would you mind if I threw a look at it?  
I lowered my bow and gave it to him.  
-Sure  
He remained silent for a moment, while he observed and tested my bow. Then he gave it back to me.  
-Thanks for allowing me to observe your bow young one. I am the Rangers' bow-maker and let's say I'm always interested in seeing new models. I find it rather interesting to see how they managed to make your bow shorter while keeping it as powerful as conventional bow. Could you explain this to me?  
-It's made of different materials.  
I showed him the inside of my bow.  
-See, they used horn for the belly , and sinew on the back. Only the core is from wood.  
-Ah I see. It must have been rather time consuming to make it then.  
-That's true, but it's worth it.  
-What's a shorter bow worth if takes so much more time to make it?  
I smiled impishly.  
-I'll show you if you want.  
The old Ranger knew a challenge when he heard one. He smiled back  
-Please do.  
To his surprise I gave a sharp whistle in response.  
-What.....  
His question was soon answered when Wintersky suddenly stormed on the practice field. He stopped with a snort, kicking up the dust and I vaulted on his back with practiced ease. Wintersky's arrival had caused quite some ruckus and I was now facing an empty practice field while curious Rangers were trickling in from all sides. I hefted my bow in a salute.  
-Aaya Wintersky! Let's show them what it means to be a Northman archer!  
With those words I nudged him back to a full-speed gallop. I nocked my first arrow, aimed and let fly. It hit the first target dead center. My second shot wasn't as good and was off by two or three inches. My third was better, less than one inch from the center. My fourth was bit closer still and my fifth was again dead center. Then I surprised them by completely twisting around untill I was looking backwards. I then showed the true worth of a shorter bow. I gave them a dead-center Parthian shot.

A little smile was playing around the older ranger's mouth when I trotted back.  
'Convinced?'I asked with an equally impish smile.  
-That I am, young one, that I am. Norhtman huh?  
-Half to be precise.  
-Aaaah. We have a few other of those walking around, though they usually aren't as fair-haired as you. Mightily handy lads to have around. They usually know of the country better than we do. We pure-blooded Gondorians are still mainly a sea-fearing people. But I'm rambling. I am Baran. Who are you young one?  
I took the hand he presented.  
-Officially it's Eldacar, but call me Vinitharya. I like that name better.  
-Pleased to... Wait a second. Eldacar? You are our new Captain aren't you?  
-Seems so  
-Why did you allow me to call you newbie?  
-There is no sense in denying that I am one isn't it? And insisting on titles doesn't seem the best way to get to know your men to me.  
Baran laughed  
-Alright Captain, I like you. You 'll make a good Ranger yet.  
'I hope so,' I answered with a smile. I was definitely going to like it with the Rangers.


	8. Chapter 8

The life of a Ranger is not an easy one even in relatively peaceful times. Still, I enjoyed that time much more than my years at the court. Oh, there were times when I wished I was back in my bed in Osgiliath especially when we were patrolling in the Emyn Muil and I developed a thorough dislike for trail rations. But it was nothing I hadn't handled before and at least I didn't have to follow the stuffy rules of the Court.

I had to adjust a bit at first. I already knew what it was to be a warrior, but being a member of a Northmen war-band was an entirely different matter than being the Captain of roughly three-hundred Rangers. I had to make their stealth my own and being suddenly thrust in a position where every wrong decision could cost human lives wasn't easy. I made mistakes. Though according to Faramir not nearly as much as they had expected. And whenever I made one the Rangers did not hesitate to point them out. It was only a matter of a year before I had completely fit in.

I was not the only one who had to adjust though. The Rangers too had to get used to me. Most of the Rangers were commoners, and though a few of the Lieutenants were nobility they didn't quite know how to act around someone of the royal line. I had however grown up in a culture where being nobility was just a matter of success and I refused to be treated differently. It led to quite a few uncomfortable situations. The few noble Lieutenants didn't communicate much with their men but I made point of mingling with the men as much as possible. That often made them uneasy, afraid as they were to say something improper in my presence. It would happen that one of the Rangers would start singing one of the less "polite" songs and suddenly stop when realizing where it was going. In those cases I usually would sing one of the Northmen drinking songs which were just as bad if not worse than those of the Rangers. They quickly got the message. I was their Captain and that meant I shared everything with them. I was not someone above them, I was the first amongst equals. They appreciated that.

Fourteen years passed that way and I enjoyed them thoroughly. On the wide, open plains of Calenardhon I felt at home.  
One day however when I came back from a patrol in the fourteenth year a messenger was waiting for me. Apparently King Narmacil had just died and I was immediately summoned to Osgiliath for the burial and the following coronation. The messenger had already been waiting for a week at Dunharrow and I was running late.

I didn't quite know if I had to grieve or be happy for the poor man. In the years I stayed at the court I had come to know the old King. He had been grieving back then. Grieving for his dead wife and during the ten years I stayed there I had always thought he seemed to be hovering in between two worlds. That of the living and that of the dead. He had often told me that he wished to see his wife again and now at last he could. But despite our differences and the many generations that lay between us I had come the appreciate him. I would miss him. He had been a quiet and gentle man with a great love for art and culture. More of a scholar and an artist than an actual ruler in fact. He had known that too which had led him too name his nephew, my grand-father, Regent as soon as he could, while he had withdrawn and had dedicated the rest of his life to art. I had at first been a curious creature to him, just a wild cub that had crashed into his room while exploring the palace. We were both lonely though, me because I didn't quite fit in, him out of choice. It was an odd friendship, me the hotheaded, half-Northman, young heir, him the grieving and withdrawn old king. But it worked and he had been one of the few persons I had said goodbye to when I left for Calenardhon fourteen years earlier.

-Vini?  
I looked up with a start and stared straight into Faramir's face. I realised I hadn't said a thing since I had received the letter. I looked up at the sky. Night was falling and taking the steep winding path down to the plains would be foolish.  
'Rangers!'I shouted.' I have just received a sad message from Osgiliath. The old King Narmacil is dead. '  
Silence fell on the camp. Narmacil had been a recluse, even before his wife's death and he was a remote figure to any but a rare few. He was still their king though.  
-Tomorrow I will depart to Osgiliath for the burial and the crowning. Tonight however we will hold a feast in his memory.

It was a strange feast. I was mourning a friend but I was one of the few. For most of the Rangers this was just an occasion to make fun. I couldn't blame them, we'd had to deal with a lot of intruders lately and we all needed a break. I was rather quiet for once though.  
-You knew him rather well didn't you?  
I looked up and saw old Baran looking down at me with two tankards in his hands. He passed me one.  
-Aye. We were friends actually.  
-You?  
Baran raised an eyebrow.  
-Somehow I have rather trouble imagining that. From what I have heard King Narmacil was some sort of hermit artist.  
I laughed.  
-You're right. He was rather withdrawn and we were very different. But somehow I was one of the few persons he still allowed close after the deah of his wife. I still think it was solely because the racket I made distracted him from his grief.  
Baran laughed and I chuckled with him.  
-He is the reason why I actually learned and still remember the Narn i Chîn Húrin1.  
-He must have been a truly patient man then.  
-You can say that.

I left early the next morning. I had made Baran temporary Captain while Faramir accompanied me together with Galdor, Minastan and Eärnil. We made it to Osgiliath in record time. A week after we had set out from Dunharrow I could glimpse the white walls of Osgiliath. It was a much somberer sight than I had left. No flags except the black ones of mourning and the people in the streets were subdued. We quickly made our way to the palace. Few people recognised me. I couldn't really blame them. After I had become Captain I had only visited Osgiliath once a year for a personal report to my father and my grandfather. The rest of the communication had passed through messengers. Aside from that I had also changed quite a bit. After a couple frustrating first months pushing away hair that had slipped out of my queue I had gone back to partially braiding it before tying it back and the many years in the wilderness had made me somewhat rough-looking. There were a few however who still recognise me. One of them was Castamir.

He had never forgiven me his defeat at my hands and his hate for me had grown over the years. During my years at the court he had been constantly challenging me, baiting me to duels and contests. I had ignored him for the most part and the few times I had answered his challenges I had usually won them. After I had gone to Calenardhon I had never seen him again until now. He was as old as I was and when I had become Captain of the Rangers he had been assigned a part of the Gondorian Fleet . His visits to the court had been more frequent than mine but somehow he had never been there when I reported. Narmacil had as much been part of his family as he had been part of mine however and we had both been summoned back. He was the first person I met after I had dismounted in the courtyard.

-Well, well. Look what the west wind swept in.  
I looked up puzzled. Though he seemed to remember me quite well I had all but forgotten about him. It took me some time But I recognized him in the end.  
-Castamir?  
He had changed too though not as much as me. The sea-sun had tanned his once pale skin a healthy brown but for the rest he looked just as refined as fourteen years ago. It surprised me a bit since life at sea can be just as rough as the life of a Ranger. He should a least have gotten a few scars. His face however was as unmarred as the first time I had seen him while I had gained my latest scar but a month ago, an angry red line under my left eye, the result of a rather close meeting with an orcish arrow.  
-Ah. It appears the wilderness has not completely adled your brain then, cousin.  
I ignored his remark and gave an ironic salute instead.  
-Pleased to meet you too.  
I gave the reins of my horse to one of the arriving stable-boys and climbed the stairs to the entrance, my four companions following closely behind me. Castamir suddenly grabbed my arm though, when I passed him.  
-You shouldn't be so arrogant, peasant. Much happened at the court since you left.  
I gave him a wry smile.  
-I'm sure you're right, cousin. Now would you let go of my arm? I would like to greet the rest of my family.  
He let go reluctantly, glaring all the way. I breezed past him without a second glance.  
- Wow, who's the guy with the attitude?  
I gave Faramir a wry smile.  
-Castamir, son of Thorondir, son of Meneldil, brother to Rómendacil. My cousin of sorts. He doesn't like me.  
-Aye. That much was clear. I've never heard somebody adress you like that. If it had been me I would have challenged him right then and there.  
-He's just a jealous fool. I don't waste my time on those.  
-I'm not so sure. He may be jealous yes but I don't think he is a fool. Don't underestimate him, Vini. He may prove dangerous yet.  
I turned aound and was about to say somthing funny when I caught sight of Faramir's serious face. He had truly meant what he said. And though he seldom gave advice, when he gave it it usually proved to be useful.  
-Alright Fara. I will be careful.

1 : For the less geeky among us. The Narn i Chîn Húrin is the old tale of the Children of Húrin, Túrin and Nienor. It's a very tragic story and it was said to be the longest of all tales, followed closely by the Lay of Leithan, the story of Beren and Lúthien. I guess young impatient Vinitharya would have had great trouble learning it.


End file.
